February Roses back-dropped by a March 2nd Snow. Image, post, copyright: Leisa A. Hammett
March.
Day One.
The microwave hummed behind me.
I stretched facing the kitchen's double windows.
On the table before them, eight remaining Valentine's roses,
sentimental.
Their edges crisping into black.
Their deep heart-red shouted in contrast to the variegated brown of the yard's border woods.
This
is
the Season
of Waiting.
We persevered the violent clutch of Winter's frozen, spirit-piercing fingers.
Hope
is
Pregnant with Spring.
Impatient hearts anticipate.
But,
the faded, stripped, bleached, barren trees beyond the frigid window panes
Remind.
Hold on.
Wait.
Not yet.
March could be long in anticipation.
Keep Faith.
Hold on to Hope.
Not
Unlike
Sometimes–
This here Life.
******************
Day Two and Three of March brought snowflakes, validating this stream-of-conscious poem I quickly jotted after looking out my kitchen windows on Day One. March, like the saying, did come in like a lion, and then teased us with tender strokes of sunshine only to whip us with its foul, heart-stopping Arctic breath days later.
Isn’t that the truth? It must be true wherever you go! Your words are beautiful and moving–words to be treasured.
Thank you!
This winter has felt prolonged…maybe because it is, indeed, prolonged. I have plum tree in my backyard that is a kind of seasonal marker for me–every year it blooms on a godchild’s birthday–March 6th.
But not this year.
To date, there are now buds; we are days away from blossoms…Spring is on the way, just a little later!
Love that, Nancy–that you shared this, the signs of hope in nature, that you have this tree….Thanks.
Leisa this is beautiful…a lovely picture painted with words!
Thank you, Jamie.